Comes the Wolf
by misscam
Summary: Kiss the storm, Rose Tyler. Kiss it before the wolf comes. [NineRosethe TARDIS]


Comes the Wolf  
by Camilla Sandman

Disclaimer: BBC's characters. Do I look like a British television station?

Author's Note: Set between "Boom Town" and "Bad Wolf". Hints at events of "Parting of the Ways".

II

When she's ten, she dreams of a forest. Planets in the sky, all waiting for her and she's running, the shadow of the wolf, always at its feet. There is fire and death, but they run on, the wolf and her, the storm at their heels. Chasing, chasing, until the storm burns, the planets burn, everything burns.

And the fire sings a lullaby and she wonders if it's for her.

When she's eleven, the dream fades and others take its place. Dreams of toys, of her father, of a red bicycle, of kittens and summer and her mother happy. She forgets the wolf.

Time doesn't.

The wolf's coming.

Howl.

II

The ship is doing it again.

Rose has, somehow, gotten used to the idea that the TARDIS can come into her mind, make itself comfortable and have a cup of tea while translating what threats of bodily dismemberment the aliens are throwing at her and the Doctor this week.

It's the singing that's throwing her. It's growing of late, filling her mind, as if trying to tell her something urgently and she has no idea what.

"Can't sleep?"

She looks up from her cup of tea to see the Doctor swanning in, looking pleased with himself, tossing and catching the sonic screwdriver. He's been this pleased ever since they've set course for Raxacoricofallapatorius and she wonders if it's the knowledge that he's not coming as an executioner after all that does it.

"You ship's singing to me again," she points out, and he cocks his head, listening.

"So it is."

"Can't you tell it to shut it?"

"I could, and we'd end up in Cardiff again," he replies and shudders. "Just ignore it and sleep as prettily as Jack is."

"How do you know Jack sleeps prettily? You looked in?"

The Doctor only smiles and resumes his play with the sonic screwdriver. Toss. Catch. Toss. Catch.

"Have you looked in on me?" she tries.

Toss. Catch. Smile.

"Would you like to?"

Still the smile. Toss. Catch. She decides to go for gold.

"I would."

Toss. No catch. He stares at her as the screwdriver falls to the floor, rolling for a moment before coming still.

"I would," she repeats, taking a sip of tea calmly, heart racing. "What do Time Lords wear to bed? Pyjamas with little blue TARDIS on? Dressing gown? Nothing?"

For a moment, there is silence, only the TARDIS singing faintly, no words and words still. The TARDIS doesn't need to have the words said aloud to leave them in her mind.

_Kiss the storm, Rose Tyler. Kiss it before the wolf comes._

"There's only me left and I wear what I want to," he says abruptly. "Like I've always done."

"The rebel."

"Nothing left to rebel against now."

She meets his gaze and it's burning, a firestorm of grief and loneliness and knowledge, always knowledge. She can only see the edges of what he knows and even that can wake her at night, wanting to scream.

And still she's here, running across the edges with the storm.

The Doctor doesn't need to say the words aloud to have them haunt her, she thinks.

Nothing left to rebel against. Nothing left but life.

"Maybe it's time to stop being a teenager, then," she replies, drains her cup and stands up. "Good night, Doctor."

She doesn't look back as she walks away, the song of the TARDIS fading to a hum.

II

_Last run, shadow of the wolf. Last run now. It's coming. _

Kiss the storm.

Fire's waiting.

She bolts awake and up, nearly knocking her head into the Doctor's in the process. For a moment, she wonders if she's dreaming that too, but no, he's in her room, leaning over her bed.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?"

"You do sleep prettily," he says and grins, but even in his grin there's a shadow. "I found some ear muffs. If the singing bothers you, put them on. Winston Churchill used to wear them during air raids."

"He did not!" she protests, but take the offered blue muffs anyway. They smell slightly of dust and she wonders if he's gone digging through boxes to find them.

"Did too," he insists, folding his arms.

"Did not... Why are we having a conversation about Winston Churchill in my bedroom?"

"What else would we be doing?"

With anyone else, there is no way that would be an innocent question. With the Doctor, she has no idea.

Perhaps time to find out, then. Perhaps finally time to find out.

"Dancing?" she suggests and meets his eyes. Blue and fire and alien, and there is no other gaze she could want to stay embraced in forever.

"Oh."

"Oh," she mimics, and thinks she might have to hit him over the head with her pillow. He has no business sounding like the idea has never occurred to him, no right to...

He kisses her and she forgets what the thought even was. He's hesitant at first, and she can feel the restraint in him, as if he's afraid to hurt her if he lets go. She lures the restraint away, tugging at his bottom lip, pulling him even closer with a hand until he sighs, just once.

Nothing left but life, but maybe it can be enough still.

"Oh," he whispers again, his breath a lick of flame across her skin. He leans his forehead against hers and they stay like so for a moment, between kisses, between change, between time. "Why now?"

"Had to let go of Mickey first."

"Took you long enough."

"Oh, shut up."

"Yes."

There is a storm on his lips, sweeping her away, leaving her breathless.

_Kiss the storm, Rose Tyler. Kiss the storm and you might ride it across the sky, one final time. _

She kisses him.

And faintly, the TARDIS lets the song die.

II

She dreams...

... _of kissing the storm, loving the storm, protecting the storm. Her storm. Her Doctor. _

... of planets burning, ships burning, always the fire. All comes to fire. All comes to her.

... of the TARDIS in her mind, still singing. The TARDIS sings a lullaby and it's not for her. It's never been for her.

... of the lullaby for him, as he is and all the grief he carries and they wish to lessen, the shadow and the wolf. The TARDIS and her.

... of the wolf and the shadow joining, becoming her. The wolf's here. Howl for the storm. Howl for the world. Howl for the fire.

She dreams and it's not a dream, never been a dream. It's what's always meant to be.

Howl.

The wolf's here.

FIN


End file.
